


Fowl, Artemis Fowl

by shambling



Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer, James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Artemis Fowl is Q, Crossover, F/M, Gen, LEPrecon, M/M, Magic, Saving the World, Slow Burn, the crossover that no-one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16357220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shambling/pseuds/shambling
Summary: In which the world is in peril, again.And the only people who can stop it are Artemis and Holly, again.Except now, its got a bit more complicated.Only Holly has a husband, and Foaly has children, and Butler is far too old to be running anywhere anymore, Mulch is, well, Mulch, and Artemis has a job, and a really unhelpful infatuation with a particular coworker.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THE CROSSOVER THAT LITERALLY NO-ONE ASKED FOR.
> 
> Some context, if you're from the Artemis Fowl Fandom: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skyfall  
> And the important thing to note is that Ben Wishaw as Q is definitely not far off what a grown up Artemis would look like: https://www.indiewire.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/shutterstock_5886236bb.jpg?w=780  
> We'll get to the accent later.
> 
>  
> 
> Some context, if you're from the James Bond Fandom: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artemis_Fowl#Artemis_Fowl_2  
> D'Arvit is a fairy swearword, its never translated.
> 
> TL,DR Imagine Q as a precious criminal mastermind teenager whose best friends with a Fairy. (Eventually)
> 
>  
> 
> My apologies in advance, I have only the vaguest idea where i'm going with this to be quite frank.

“Arty, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Holly, you do me a disservice, I’m just phoning for a chat.”

“Do me a favour Artemis, 1. Its 6 o’clock in the evening, if this was social you’d be video calling me directly from your sofa, and 2. That’s not your voice, is it? You’re still at work.” This is a statement, not a question. Holly knows the boy like the back of her hand. She switches ears with her communicator and wrestles the lid of a bright green smoothie. It pays to get comfortable when Artemis calls for work.

 

At the other end of the line, she hears Artemis laugh softly, and then, almost in a whisper he says: “I should’ve remembered I can’t deceive you old friend.” And now its his voice, the soft Irish lilt undampened by years of London and expensive education. “Come on then Artemis,” Holly chides, but she’s grinning, and she knows he can hear it. “What have you done this time? Because if you want to know how to fit explosives into a watch you know its Foaly you want and not me.”

“I’m well aware, and I’m even more aware of how busy Foaly and Cabaline are with the kids, no this is more of a.” He stops, Artemis Fowl the Second, lost for words, Holly should be recording this. “It’s work but its personal, if that makes sense?” Holly has a very strong hunch where this might be going. Something that would cause Fowl to confide in her specifically.

 

“Artemis, is this the kind of conversation that I’m going to want to run a bath for? Because if it is you’re going to need to give me a moment.” This makes the boy, man now, she supposes, laugh. “I’d say it might well be Holly. Lucky for you the water’s always warm.” She laughs back, already turning the taps on the thermally heated bath. Her voice echos slightly as it bounces around the bathroom. “Come on the Fowl, out with it, I’ve got time, and I presume you have too.”

“Yes.” His reply is, distracted, she would say, slightly far away. “I’ve got til at least 9 before Butler will really start to worry.” Another pause, very uncharacteristic. “Holly, how did you cope when you realised you…” He stops again, Holly juggles the communicator as she undresses, but she has a hunch he’s blushing. “When I realised I what Fowl? That I’d accidentally become best friends with a human teenager?” She’s joking, but she has a hunch she knows what he’s about to ask and she doesn’t want to be the one to crack first. “Clearly that’s not a question I need to ask Holly, because I know that the answer is horrified.” He takes a deep breath. “No, I realise we have a strong pact to never ever discuss our, ahem, love lives, but I really can’t ask anyone else this.”

“Oh Arty.” Holly sighs and sinks deeper into the bath, reaching for her smoothie. “If its someone at work, then the answer is that you have to make sure you accidentally fall in love with the head of the force whom you’ve known since you started, and then he’ll smooth it over for you. And if its not someone at work and you want advice on flirting, you’re quite genuinely better off asking Foaly, or possibly your father, which is not a sentence I ever thought I’d say.”

 

Artemis says nothing for a short while, and Holly considers letting him stew but she’s too fond really. “Whats she like then Arty, but be aware if you say short and auburn I will have to seriously consider changing all my contact details.”

“You’re safe Major Short, she’s not” Another pause, Holly would seriously be wondering if someone had body swapped Artemis if he hadn’t spent the past 3 years working in the most secure institute the human United Kingdom had to offer, and with Butler in the flat below his when he wasn’t. “Come on Arty, spit it out or you’ll be out of time and you’ll have to explain yourself to Butler.” She can hear Artemis wince at the thought. “Which would entirely defeat the point of calling you. No, she’s not short or auburn, in fact, she’s, well. She, is not.” He makes a strangulated sound, but unfortunately for him Holly does not follow. “Sorry Artemis, you’re going to have to explain better than that.”

“She isn’t a she Holly. She, is a He. And He, is very extremely muscley and blonde.”

 

The silence that stretches seems to go on forever. At least to Artemis. It feels quite long to Holly too, who thinks quickly as she goes to formulate her answer. “I see.” She says at long last, “And you’re asking me to, what exactly? Tell you how to chat up this mystery man? Because I don’t think you can take him to a crunchball game…” Artemis actually moans at this, like a wounded creature. This is the Artemis Holly knows and loves dearly. “Holly, I think I’m coming out to you for gods sake I do not need a rerun of the time you and Trouble finally bonded over the Frond thing by getting kicked out of a game together.”

“Arty,” her voice is softer now, “I can’t pretend its not a little bit of a surprise, but, well, you’re still my best friend, even if you are a mud man, and I’m quite sure that anyone else who really truly cares about you will say exactly the same thing. Okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice actually sounds choked up. Artemis Fowl, emoting. Who could’ve predicted. “What am I going to do Holly?”

“Chat him up?” Holly offers back, and Artemis laughs again.

“I’m not even sure if he’s interested, but, D’arvit, I can’t be going around fancying a man old enough to be my father can I?”

 

“Oh Artemis, if you’re wanting to delve into the extent of your father issues I’m going to need a deeper bath and more than an hour.” They both laugh, but its true. “Just, try and chat him up. See what happens. Probably ask someone with a better track record of flirting than me, for some tips though, but if all else fails, you could try asking him to a crunchball game?” Artemis laughs again.

“Thank you old friend, I knew I could rely on you. I should probably be going, or Butler will miss me. Talk soon yes?”

“Of course Arty, just tell me one thing, whats his name?”

“James, James Bond.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logistically, this takes place about 5-10 years after the end of the Artemis Fowl series, and i'm assuming therefore that Holly would've been promoted. I'm also confident she's such an angry feminist that she wouldn't think of changing her surname, at least not professionally.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old enemy resurfaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, but I think I know where i'm going with this now

Artemis is tired, and very glad to have a driver waiting at the door as he shoulders his bag for the night. Since realising over breakfast that he’s infatuated with his very blonde, very much older, very much _male_ co-worker, he’s not really achieved anything useful, other than spending the day working up the courage to ring Holly. He doesn’t feel especially guilty though, R tells him often enough that he works himself into the ground for Q branch, and she’s probably right. It all balances out somewhere, some days he’s awake without pause for 40 hours, saving Queen and Country, some days he drinks tea and stares at his powerbook without seeing it and worries about his friends.

 

It seems silly now, to have worried what Holly would think, what any of them would, except that he hasn’t entirely decided in and of himself what he thinks he is. His phone buzzes with a message, its Holly again.

 

_Fowl, because I know you’re overthinking it, you once briefly fell in love with another species, I wouldn’t be worrying that this “James” makes you gay. Get some sleep._

Ever reliable, almost psychic in her timing, but she’s right. After all, Artemis also has quite a healthy respect for Eve, although he’d never admit it for fear of being shot down in a very literal sense. He fires off a reply, and thinks instead of being at home, of a nice glass of wine and settling onto the sofa with his cats. He’s got an idea in mind for a paper on the mechanics of post concussion syndrome that he might dash off; although he has not yet decided under which pseudonym to submit it. Dr F. Roy. Dean. Schlippe, who could certainly branch out from pure psychology into neurology. Or maybe someone new, Artemis is older now, and doesn’t enjoy the puns quite so much, although the way that they have slid by unnoticed is still a source of delight. He flexes his fingers in anticipation, making them crack, as the car pulls up outside his door.

 

He bids the driver goodnight, and heads inside, greeted with forceful enthusiasm by his cats. Archimedes tries to rub around his knees with enough force to knock him off balance, whilst Grace elects to leap up onto his shoulders as soon as he comes within reach. Briefly, Artemis stops to imagine what his previous self would’ve thought of this, and he smiles. He feeds the cats, and then himself, before settling down to tap out his paper, only a quick affair, but so is everything for a man with Artemis’ typing speed.

 

In pauses to think of the word he wants, Artemis is sure he can hear Butler in the downstairs flat. The man is what can now really only be described as old, nearing 70, he keeps his head and face shaven still, but there’s no disguising how grey his eyebrows are, or the lines around his eyes. He’s taken up yoga and tai chi, claiming that age is absolutely no reason to stop, and Artemis agrees. He can’t imagine Butler ever stopping, only if he were struck down, and after all, death didn’t stop him before.

 

He feels a brief glow of contentment. Little does Artemis realise, but this is to be the most relaxed he will feel for quite some time.

 

*

 

Meanwhile, somewhere in the vicinity of Russia, things are about to go very, very wrong indeed.

 

Ark Sool, disgraced, demoted and banished to watching an almost disused chute has had plenty of time to become very angry indeed. He’s also had an awful lot of reading time, which might go a long way to explaining his plan. After all, the Mafiya do not forgive lightly, and although many bosses have come and gone since the daring rescue of Artemis Fowl I, the current one still wouldn’t be adverse to upsetting the Irish business man, and maybe making some money into the bargain.

 

Really, Ark had barely had to mesmerise the mudman, only a little, so that he didn’t question the size or shape of the fairy stood in front of him, coated in radioactive repelling gel.

 

The plan is really quite simple, lure Fowl here through his job, which in turn will bring Short, Kelp, and, if he’s very lucky indeed, Foaly too, towards him, where he can trap them all to a lingering and painful end amongst the radioactive wrecks of Murmansk.

 

And now, with the tap into Fowl and Short’s communications, Sool has exactly the way in that he needs to get Fowl to Murmansk. This had always been the hardest part of his plan to achieve. But now, all he needs to do is have the big mudman deployed, and Fowl will surely follow. Perhaps he might even bring his old manservant too, it would be nice, clean to finish them all, but its Short and Kelp he really wants. The mudmen are just collateral damage.

 

There were some who would say that Sool had gone mad, but he was quite in possession of all of his senses. Sool was just extremely unpleasant.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in the North, Artemis and Foaly fear it might be old enemies, but they're not thinking of the same person

Artemis feels remarkably refreshed as he dresses for work the following morning. He regards the three sections of his wardrobe with some amusement, to the extreme left are his preferred suits, for use when visiting Mother and Father, or associating with people he knew as a teenager, to the extreme right, what he thinks of as disguises. A few pairs of jeans and some tee shirts, even, although it rarely sees the light of day, a hoodie. And in the middle, his greatest alias to date, is the wardrobe of Q.

 

What Juliet reliably informs him are called “separates” but in practice are what he would call, suit trousers and shirts. A range of jumpers and cardigans in place of matching jackets, and the glasses.

 

As a child, Artemis had been extremely skeptical of the transformation between Clark Kent and Superman, as though someone would become so unrecognizable with or without glasses. But in reality he has found that they make a very helpful extra layer. His eyes are of course perfect, as indeed is the rest of his physical fitness. He has the genetic age of a ten year old, although perhaps not the stamina that seems to be possessed of all the children he has ever encountered.

Artemis disarranges his hair until it settles into its natural waves, selects a pair of navy herringbone wool trousers and a pale grey shirt spiked with small, embroidered elements. He finishes this off with a matching navy tie and maroon cardigan, and then maroon shoes. He places the glasses on his face, and Q stares back out of the mirror at him.

 

Artemis steps out of the door to his flat, satchel on one shoulder, and Artemis greets Butler with a smile and a nod, as the two descend the stairs. Artemis bids Butler goodbye for the day, as the older man heads off towards the local bakery for bread, but it is Q who gets into the MI5 car, nodding at the driver and pulling out his phone to make a head start on the days work.

 

An innocuous email greets him:

 

 

 

From: M ([g.mallory@mi5.gov.uk](mailto:g.mallory@mi5.gov.uk))

To: Q ([quartermaster@mi5.gov.uk](mailto:quartermaster@mi5.gov.uk))

 

Subject: Murmansk

 

 

 

Q,

 

Would you put together a package for 007 for the Arctic Circle? We ideally need him on the next available (commercial) flight. Trouble in the North.

 

M

 

 

 

 

 _Trouble in the North._ Muses Artemis, but Trevelyan is dead, definitely dead. Although, this is a mistake that’s been made before. Not by him, but a mistake nonetheless. In all likelihood its something else entirely, after all, it would be a terrible mistake to send 007 out after him again. That, they do know. He books the plane tickets and sends them to print as the car pulls in, bids the driver good day and heads to his office, deep in thought.

 

He’s distracted, so he doesn’t see 007 until he almost walks straight into him, lounging outside the door.

 

“Christ Bond, let a man start the kettle before you go looming out of nowhere would you?” Now he is Q, clipped English vowels, self-assured but more twitchy. He scowls at Bond, but it’s affectionate, and Bond for his part pretends to look chastised. The grin pulling at the corners of his mouth rather spoils the effect though. _Christ he’s good looking._ Thinks Artemis, which is not in any way helpful. “What can I say,” Bond replies, “I’m just incredibly keen to fly to Russia again.”

“Charming bastard.” Artemis mutters, skirting around Bond to put his bag down and fire up his computer, before turning to the kettle. “You’re not getting any toys until I’ve had a cup of tea, and you’re not going anywhere until at least tomorrow because M was insisting you flew commercial.” They both shudder theatrically, Bond at the thought of flying with Other People, Artemis because Q doesn’t like flying. The fact that Artemis himself holds a pilots license is what makes this a particularly helpful fiction, another layer to his identity.

 

The kettle clicks, and Artemis busies himself with it, mainly so that he doesn’t have to look at Bond, leaning long and louche against the doorframe. “Tea?” He asks, “Coffee? Pass us the milk.”

“Coffee, if I’m going to be stuck here waiting.” And so Artemis splashes milk into his mug, and a spoonful of instant into Bond’s. No sense wasting the good coffee on the man. Their fingers brush briefly as he hands it over, it feels like an electric shock.

 

“I don’t suppose you know what it is you’re going to do? M just said there was trouble, that will rather affect what I’m going to equip you with you know.” As he speaks, Artemis sips tea from his mug, the one with the scrabble Q on it, and opens his emails. At the top, there is one from Foaly, and its entitled, “Trouble in the North”. Curious. “Trouble with the Mafiya I gather.” Bond says, still lounging on the door, blowing on his coffee to cool it. “They’ve been invoking the name Janus again, it’ll almost certainly turn out to be nothing.”

“Hmmm.”

“Well yes, but there’s only one way to find out, so do I get anything more interesting than a gun and a radio this time Q?”

“Maybe, if you ask nicely.” The email from Foaly is playing on his mind, he can never tell Bond, but that might affect his decision more than anything M has to say. “Go and bother R for the gun and the radio, I’ll let you know if you get any other toys after I’ve spoken to M.” Bond pouts a bit, but he does as he’s told, and strolls away, pushing the door to behind him. _Christ I’m fucked._ Thinks Artemis, letting his head drop momentarily to the desk, as he watches Bond saunter across the room through the office windows.

 

With an effort of will, he turns his attention to Foaly’s email.

 

From: Foaly ([horsesense@lowerelements.org](mailto:horsesense@lowerelements.org))

To: Q ([quartermaster@mi5.gov.uk](mailto:quartermaster@mi5.gov.uk))

 

“Q”

 

Trouble with our old friends in Murmansk again. I gather they’re sending your boyfriend out there, but I’ve got an unpleasant hunch its’ you they want. We suspect involvement from “our side”. Call me.

 

“F”

 

 

Artemis smiles in spite of himself. Foaly has never been completely certain of his job, but he appreciates the tip off none the less, and flips open the fairy powered communicator that lives in his pocket, toing the door shut so he can speak freely. Foaly would love an opportunity to poke fun at Artemis’ English accent again. The centaur answers before its’ even completed the first ring.

 

“Foaly!”

“Artemis! What’s this I head about a love interest? The ice man melteth?”

“Foaly, is this really relevant? I told Holly that in confidence you know.” The centaur let loose a braying laugh. “And you also knew that Holly would tell me the moment she got off the phone, you’re a fool if you thought she wouldn’t.” He’s right of course, Artemis had rather been counting on it. “Anyway,” he presses on, “My love life not withstanding, what’s this about Murmansk?”

“Do you remember our dear friend Commander Sool?”

“Naturally. I thought he was busy watching a thrilling patch of mould in the north?”

“He was. Emphasis on the past tense. Which is rather the problem. I’ve gathered your human intelligence force is about to head that exact way to deal with a problem with the mafia, and at the same time I’ve heard rumblings that they’re still sore about the rescue from your father. I strongly suspect that there’s a plan to get you to the Arctic Circle so they can ransom you instead.”

“Mhmm, and how does this relate to Sool? Because so far this seems like an appalling plan, why would I go rushing off to the Arctic to get caught?”

“Search me. But that’s not what’s important, this is; about the same time I was intercepting your emails - you really do need to let me work on your firewall you know, I can bypass yours anyway – I received a message from Commander Kelp, Sool has suddenly dropped off the radar. I’m certain the two are connected in some way.”

“ Yes but Foaly, you have to admit you’ve got a history for paranoia.” Artemis offers, quite reasonably, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of tea.

“ I resent that Fowl, my ‘paranoia’ turned out to be perfectly well founded as you know.”

“Point taken. So you think Sool has something to do with Janus’ revival?”

“I’m sure of it. The important thing is that if anything goes wrong, I’m confident Holly will go barreling up north, and you will to. So be careful okay? Take some fairy kit with you if you really must, but I have a feeling that if you do we’ll be playing right into their hands.”

“Consider your warnings heeded Foaly, give my love to Caballine and the kids?”

“Of course, my best to Butler, look after yourself Fowl.”

 

Foaly rings off, and Artemis stashes the communicator back in his pocket. Fairies and the Mafiya. Just what he wanted from his morning. But that does at least inform his decisions for kitting Bond out.

 

The best thing about being both incredibly intelligent, and having access to some of the finest mines in and under the world, is that when Artemis wants to kit someone out, he can really go the extra mile. Foaly let him have the secrets of memory latex and iris cameras, in return for a few inventions of Artemis’ own, and they’ve become and invaluable part of his field agent kit.

 

When he leaves the office, Bond is lounging on the desk of one of Q Branches youngest members, Lily is blonde, and beautiful, but in a spiky sort of way, today she’s braided the long bits of her hair into a faux mohawk, revealing the short and fluffy sides, which Artemis knows from experience no-one is allowed to touch without express permission. “Put them down Bond, they’ve told you before they’re not interested.” Lily shoots him a smile, which Artemis returns, perfectly capable of looking after themselves, but appreciative none-the-less. “R wouldn’t let me hang around at her desk anymore and Nathanial said he’d shoot me if I didn’t move.” Bond sounds very reasonable, and Artemis has to suppress a smile as he raises an eyebrow. “Lily is the only one who’s willing to talk to me.” Now Artemis does smile. “That’s because Lily is young and as yet unhardened by the world and your charms. Come along 007, pay attention to me. I’ve got confirmation on what I need to kit you out with.”

 

Bond trots along obediently in his wake towards a side room, like an overgrown Labrador, the focus of his attention on Artemis, which Artemis finds he really rather likes. _Not now._ He thinks furiously. _It would be really very unprofessional to get an erection at work._

 

As he retrieves items from boxes and shelves he narrates, more for the benefit of the recording system, which will update the inventory for him, than for anything else.

 

“One iris camera, Capri blue.

Microphone with memory latex cover

An earpiece, (so tiny its almost invisible to the human eye)

Palm print locked walther with nuclear battery

Extra ammunition, 5 rounds

Radio distress signal transmitter

Divers watch

Cufflinks, the black pair

And one stun pen”

 

Bond looks delighted, it’s rare that he gets toys, but Artemis doesn’t want to take chances. “The watch has a detonator built into the bezel. Be careful when you’re setting the alarm,” Artemis informs him, “you’ll want to be well clear before it goes off, the components are, rather sharp. As for the cufflinks, there’s a set of lock picks in one, and a belaying line in the other, although I’m sure you’ll use it for something horrifying.” Bond smiles beatifically as if to say would I?

“If you’d clean the blood off, _before_ you return it this time, I’d be most grateful.” Artemis stops to push his glasses up his nose.

 

“Finally, the pen. It’s a refined design. Click the top and you get a nice roller ball, push down the grip on the side and you’ll be able to fire a sedative dart, enough to take down an elephant but there’s a fairly reasonable chance you’ll kill the person you hit it with if you’re not quick. That’s why its’ got a built in antidote, and because I don’t trust you not to stick yourself with it. Whichever it is, turn the barrel anticlockwise and trigger the arrow again, and for gods sake be quick about it.”

 

He hands Bond a card, which reads:

 

 _I have managed to stick myself/this person with Etorphine Hydrochloride. I have/have not used the antidote, Naloxone._ The first side covers European languages, the second Cyrillic and other eastern.

 

“Give that to the first doctor you encounter if you use it. And as a last resort, if you turn it clockwise and click the top, then it will give off a stunning concussion wave when it hits a solid surface, so for gods sake wear your earplugs and relax your jaw if it comes to that okay?”

 

Bond nods, stowing the gadgets about his person with professional intensity, and doesn’t even flinch as Artemis applies the iris camera, throat mic, earpiece and earplugs. “Your flight leaves at 11 from Heathrow, then you’ll need to pick up the connecting train from St Petersburg.” Bond nods, standing and goes to leave, he gets as far as the door when Artemis stops him. “For gods sake Bond, do be careful won’t you?”

“Afraid you won’t get your tech back Q? I’m always careful.” Bond gives him a winning smile, and then he’s gone.

 

“Bollocks” Artemis mutters to himself out loud, before returning to the melee of Q branch proper.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere underground, a familiar situation takes place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so glad i'm not the only one who can see this. Here comes a short one, before we go into full, POV what POV? territory and head up north.

Down in the Lower elements, a remarkably similar scene is taking place, except Foaly doesn’t wear glasses. Also it would be difficult to say who would be more horrified if Foaly had a _thing_ for Holly. Caballine, Holly or Foaly himself.

 

“Wings, helmet, hazel iris camera and throat mic, just in case, standard issue suit and neutrino, the grip is customized to you y’know. Only you can fire it. I got that one from Artemis, but don’t tell him, he doesn’t need any more encouragement.” Both fairies laugh.

 

“Holly, be careful will you? I’ve got a horrible feeling this is exactly what Sool wants.”

 

“I will.” Holly pauses and then gives the centaur a tight hug. “What he wants is me and Trouble by extension, but someone needs to go and look after Artemis’ love interest, and I can kill two birds with one stone this way. Just don’t let Trouble cause too much, well, trouble, okay?” This makes them both smile, Holly is the only one who has ever been able to stop Trouble Kelp.

 

“You’re cleared for a hotshot direct to Murmansk Major.” Says Foaly, by way of goodbye, “We’ll be with you all the way.”

As Holly leaves, Foaly fires off a message to Artemis.

 

_Short has gone after Bond. What do you say to a little interagency cooperation?_

Somewhere less deep under London, Artemis smiles and shoots back a response.

 

_Only if you promise not to say a word about the accent. I don’t usually run missions from my private office._

Foaly smirks, sending an encoded version of his image straight into Artemis’ screen with the accompanying text. _I reserve the right to phone you up and laugh at you later._

Artemis rolls his eyes, Foaly laughs.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in the North, Sool and Janus annoy one another, Bond has, an encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of laziness, let us assume the train between St Petersburg and Murmansk is a sleeper.
> 
> For the purposes of spending way, way too long googling it, this takes place somewhere in the vicinity of Kovda, which is 3 hours ahead of the UK. 
> 
> To any Russian speakers reading this, i'm sorry. I ran it both ways through google translate. One day I'll learn to stop writing things in languages I can't speak or spell in. If you speak Russian, do please feel free to correct me!

Meanwhile, in the North.

 

It is hard to say who is finding the steady drip, drip, drip, of water more infuriating, Janus or Sool. The repetitive nature, and the fact that there is no-one to truly blame is doing no-one any good. Janus blames Sool, for his inistance on turning the heating up so high, fairies do not like the cold. Sool blames Janus, for being in Northern Russia in the first place, he also blames Kelp and Short, for placing him so far North, albeit underground. He also blames the Fowl boy, for causing Short and Kelp to place him so far north, requiring him to be here at all. In short, Sool is furious and blaming everyone he can think of.

 

All around the central building, snow lies in a thick, silent blanket, whilst it melts on contact with the roof and walls of this building, heated to Sool’s liking, the beauty of the Mesmer, he can over ride the will of any others, but it drips, the fact the dripping water has formed an almost lethal sheet of ice just outside the perimeter of the heat is of little concern to Sool. He isn’t going outside, because the fairies he wants are coming to him. Let the foot soldiers deal with the ice. And if he has to go out? He’ll just blast a path through with his adapted Neutrino Long Shot.

 

The water continues to drip, and the two temporary allies glare at each other from across the room, one small, and clad in excessive quantities of gold, the other tall, and glaring, as their quarries come closer.

 

*

 

Bond has no trouble making his train at St Petersberg, which mercifully is heated to human temperatures, so that he can dispense with the balaclava and parka get up, in favour of something more subtle. Rather than a suit, he’s wearing the good jeans, with a polo neck and a jacket. Of course, this is still Northern Russia so he’s got some extremely practical and unflattering thermals on underneath it all, but he’s not expecting this to be a mission of seduction, which with the iris cam in is probably for the best. He can’t quite put his finger on why he feels so strange about Q being able to see as well as hear him make a conquest, its hardly like its something he’s not done before, but he’s been getting increasingly uncomfortable.

 

Bond takes dinner alone, pretending to read the newspaper whilst he glances around the carriage, sizing up the other occupants. Mostly men of working age, traveling up for their stint on the submarines. Not very much in the way of eye candy except, he finds his gaze keeps coming to rest on a very pretty young man, dark curly hair, and stubble. Slightly sleepy eyes. Its how he imagines Q might look first thing in the morning, not that he routinely imagines what Q might look like in bed naturally. Its just after that pyjamas comment its hard not to sometimes. Bond drags his gaze away as the man makes eye contact briefly, lets his gaze sweep around the carriage again, before flagging down a passing waitress for another drink.

 

“Don’t get too drunk Bond, you never know what might happen.” Q’s voice in his ear is so crystal clear it’s as though the man is sat right next to him. Bond isn’t sure he’s every going to get used to these new technological updates. He doesn’t flinch, but he feels like it. Of course, one can’t just start speaking into thin air without being noticed, so he takes out his phone, pretends to dial a number, and then speaks into it, in Russian.

 

«ум свой бизнес Q» _("Mind your own business Q")_

«Что бы вы ни говорили, Бонд, но вы знаете, он может быть заинтересован.» _(_ _"Whatever you say, Bond, but you know, he may be interested."_ _)_ Of course the bastard replies in Russian, not that he needs to, its just the kind of thing he does.

«Очень забавно.» _(“Very funny”)_

«Я не сужу тебя, радуйся, где ты можешь получить это Бонд. Просто убедитесь, что вы готовы к Янусу.» _(_ _“I’m not juding you, take your fun where you can Bond. Just make sure you’re ready for Janus. ”_ _)_

«Я родился, готовый Q, поспать, не беспокойтесь обо мне. » (“I was born ready Q, you don't have to worry about me.”)

 

He puts the phone away, making sure to follow its progress with his iris cam, so that Q will know he can no longer speak to reply.

 

He looks up again, the pretty man has moved and is in front of him, as suddenly as a whisper. Bond tenses, ready for fight or flight. The half formed idlings of his mind are as close to illegal in Russia as its possible to be without being explicitly against the law, but the young man is smiling quite politely.

 

«Sascha,» he says, offering a hand for Bond to shake. «  
Саше Алексина Куженова» (Sascha Aleksovna Kuschenov) _Interesting,_ Bond thinks, shaking the proffered hand.

«Джеймс» he replies, pausing only momentarily before responding in kind, «Джеймс, Герберт Бонд» They drop hands, and stare intently at one another over the table, as Bond takes another sip of his drink.

 

  
«Вы интересный человек, Джеймс Герберт Бонд, может быть, вы хотели бы вернуться в мою каюту, мы могли бы поговорить и выпить еще». ("You're an interesting man, James Herbert Bond, maybe you'd like to come back to my cabin? We could talk and drink some more.") The man keeps his voice entirely neutral, but at the same time one booted toe is running up the inside of Bond’s leg, a firm but gentle pressure that makes Bond feel slightly dizzy. He downs the rest of his drink and stands, decisively, iris camera be damned. «Я был бы рад.» (It would be my pleasure.)

 

Bond follows him out of the carriage, aware of the eyes on them both, but they don’t feel accusatory, just interested. It’s a long time to be away, there aren’t many women on the submarines, or in the Mafiya, and there are relatively few other reasons to go to the Bay of Kola. Needs must for most of these men, and if needs happen to look like certain rather beautiful Quartermasters, then, all the better. _Not_ that Bond is in any way admitting this to himself. The master of repression.

 

“Be careful.” Q whispers in his ear, reminding him that he’s still being listened in on. “Don’t worry.” The voice says again, calming, “I can look the other way if it makes you feel better. Bond blinks the morse code for “fuck off Q” as he follows the intriguing man into a cabin much like Bond’s own, single bed, basin, clothes rail. Q laughs in his ear, and Bond knows he’s got the message.

 

They sit side by side on the bed, whilst Sascha produces a bottle of vodka, seemingly from under the pillow, takes a swig and then offers it to Bond, who knocks back a mouthful. It could strip paint, possibly that’s what its actually for, but for now the primary intention seems to be to get them both relaxed enough to go through with what they’ve been hinting at. Bond pretends to take another mouthful, hands the bottle out, and watches admiringly as Sascha slugs it without missing a beat, before reaching out decisively and palming Bond’s cock through the front of his trousers. Bond lets out a small gasp of air,«поиметь»

«Нет,» Sasha replies, «трахать»

 

Bond laughs, he needs to brush up on his Russian clearly, and then Sascha moves his hand deftly to the buckle of Bond's trousers, and he stops having any clear thoughts at all. «да» He murmurs, moving to respond in kind, «да, да, да» He closes his eyes, but its not Sascha he's picturing as the two men move together.

 

*

 

Somewhere, not so deep below London, Artemis sinks to the floor, blinds down and back pressed against his office door; as though his weight will be more effective than bio security, and reaches into his own trousers. He's as good as his word, he's not looking, but he can't help listening. As Bond and the other man’s breathy gasps and wet noises fill his ears, Artemis comes apart very quickly.

 

Exhausted, he lies on the floor for a short while, before heaving himself back to his feet, cleans up with the box of tissues on his desk and feels glad its late, there's no-one else around.

 

Artemis collapses, fully dressed, onto the camp bed he keeps in the office for occasions such as these, and calls Foaly on the fairy communicator as he lies, eyes half closed.

 

”Any news from the Major?”

“None” comes Foaly's reply, but no news is good news so far, and so Artemis risks a few hours of sleep. No-sense in tiring himself out. Not when he knows precisely where Bond is. The smartblood tracker will wake him if anything goes really wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few pieces of Russian are left untranslated for flow; they are
> 
> «Джеймс, Герберт Бонд» - James Herbert Bond
> 
> “поиметь» - Fuck
> 
> «Нет, трахать» - No, fuck (the specific conjugation which refers to shagging)
> 
> да - Yes
> 
>  
> 
> For those who didn't spend a long time on google translate, although its not really explored, I have a head canon that Sascha is a transman, which is why he gives his middle name (Aleksovna) the feminine derivative of Aleksi rather than Aleksinov, the male. hashtag incidental queer characters. 
> 
>  
> 
> Finally, for the interested, 
> 
> . . _ . . . _ _ . _ . _ . _ _ _ _ . . _ . . . _ . _ _ . _
> 
> Is Fuck Off Q in morse code. 
> 
> No you spend too long on research for a throwaway line.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is why I don't generally post WIP works, because i'm so bad at finishing them. Embarassingly, I had most of this short chapter written and just added like, a paragraph? to the end? which is terrible. I'll get it finished one day, I swear.

Holly is somewhere under Murmansk, and not very happy about it. The pod ride has been easy enough, at least as far as being blasted by a magma flare under the earths surface in a large metal egg shape can be, and then its been engines the rest of the way. But now, much as she suspected, she’s under the Arctic Circle, and there is the cam pod, and there is the patch of mould, but there is a distinct lack of disgraced ex-Commander Arc Sool anywhere to be seen. “D’arvit.” Holly muttered, before pinging Foaly.

“You were right, he’s gone. Long gone by the looks of things around here.” She can hear Foaly sigh a deep sigh. “Hardly a surprise. You’ve got permission to go topside, but for Frond’s sake Holly, I know you’ve got a track record for forgetting what “recon” means, please? For once? For me? Can you try and remember?”  
“Oh Foaly,” Holly laughs, “you do me an injustice, I promise to be more careful.”

The centaurs noise of disapproval is ringing in her ears as she docks the ship, and hops out into the cold dark of the terminal, glad for the heating coils in her suit. “Rad gel.” Comes Foaly’s voice in her ear, as though she’d forget, but she he means well so she says nothing, just smears it on. “Nothing to report yet from Human Intelligence,” continues Foaly, “although its’ early yet so possibly Artemis is sleeping, but I’m still not confident this isn’t another Opal type situation.”   
“Roger that Foaly, I’m full of juice I can shield the whole way if I need to.”  
“Just, look after yourself Holly. I don’t want to nearly lose you again.”

Holly smiles grimly, activating her wings and rising into the dawning light where icy wind and radiation immediately start to look for any gaps in her suit they can worm their way into. She seals her helmet, points herself towards civilization and guns her wings. Policing, its not all bad.

*  
Sool is not especially interested in the mudman that Janus’ people have bought in. This is the problem with using mudmen to play a Fairy game, they have a terrible habit of getting distracted. Janus is still gloating, and Sool is not listening, not at all, until he hears the name. “…the famous James Bond, at my mercy once more.”  
“Who?” Sool interrupts, knocking Janus from his reverie,  
“James Bond, The MI5 agent, the one who nearly killed me. My, brother in arms.” Sool has heard that name before, in the coded transmissions between the boy, Artemis Fowl, and the elf, Holly Short. The mudmen are not distracted after all, everything is proceeding according to plan. With the mudman snatched from the Murmansk train, sooner or later the boy will follow, and with him will come Short, and as soon as he has them, he will have Kelp within his grasp. Revenge, at last.

*

In the end, it is not Bond that wakes Artemis, his life signs stay consistent with deep sleep, it’s actually Moneypenny, knocking loudly on the office door before breezing in with a coffee and a cheery “You’d better be decent Q.” 

“I’m always decent.” He mutters, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, reaching for his glasses and giving Moneypenny a suitably unfocussed look until he’s got them on. “That’s not what I heard.” She retorts with a grin, and hands over the mug. Artemis gives her his most disparaging look, and moves from the camp bed to the desk Eve has perched on, peering around her to check the vital signs. All quiet, although, that in itself is odd. “What time is it?” Artemis asks, and Moneypenny checks the clock behind her on the wall, “Nearly 9, I’d best be off or M will kill me, lunch? If no-ones dead?”   
“Mm, yeah.” Artemis replies, as Moneypenny leaves the door open behind her. If its nearly 9, that means it should be getting on for lunchtime in the North, and if that’s the case, then something is wrong. Bond shouldn’t still be asleep, not in the normal course of things, which means that something has happened.

“Fuck.” Artemis mutters aloud, and reaches for the fairy communicator, kicking the door shut at the same time, so he can chat to Foaly and Holly in peace.


	7. Chapter 7

“Fowl?” Foaly sounds surprised to hear from him, Artemis can hear the quiet hum of monitors in the background on the crystal clear link.   
“Something’s wrong.” He is wasting absolutely no time at all. “I think this is a trap. But I don’t know who for.” That gets Foaly’s attention.   
“Tell me everything Fowl. In fact…” An infentissemal pause as Foaly adds Holly to the conversation, just as Artemis suspected he would, it feels like forever.  
“It’s a trap Holly, but I don’t know who for.” He repeats, as soon as he hears the beep of her joining. “According to the tracker Bond is still in deep sleep, but it should be nearly lunchtime local time, so either he’s unconscious, or someone has found a way around my work, which is so unlikely as to be impossible.” He’s not being immodest, its just true. Another long pause, maybe only seconds again, but it still feels like an eternity. 

“Artemis.” Holly eventually breaks the silence, her voice soft, muffled by her helmet as she skims across the arctic ice towards Murmansk. “I can’t abort a mission to go and look for your boyfriend, you know that.” 

Artemis, behind the venetian blinds of his office, pinches the bridge of his nose and removes the glasses so that he can press his fingers into his temples, communicator wedged under one ear. “That’s not what I’m asking Holly, and he’s not my boyfriend, he’s, a colleague. A colleague I’m really rather fond of. That’s all.” He sighs, and hears the rush of static come back to him in his own ear. “It’s not just him I’m worried about Holly. It’s you as well. These two things could be entirely unconnected but, well, someone incapacitating Bond? It’s like taking down Butler in his prime, not something you saw every day.” 

Another pause, Foaly is remembering watching on camera as Butler took on a cave troll, Holly remembers seeing the giant man in a cryopod, Artemis, tries very hard not to think at all. He’s seen enough horrible things to last him a lifetime. 

“So, you think that your problem and our problem could be the same source? Is that what you’re saying?” Foaly asks eventually, “Because if that’s the case then Holly you’re not to go within 50ft of that place without back up, I don’t care what the commander says.” 

“Too late,” Holly retorts breezily, although Artemis can hear an edge to her voice, “I’m hovering 30ft overhead already. Your man Artemis, he isn’t blonde is he? About 6 foot tall quite big shoulders?” At the exact moment she says this, Bond’s vitals on the screen give a kick, everything shooting up, heart rate, breathing, brain function. “Yes?” Artemis retorts, eyes glued to the screen. “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” Holly replies, in a measured tone that sounds like she’s fighting to keep it that way, “He’s just disappeared inside a compound on the northern edge of Murmansk, being detained by some really rather large men, and the heat signatures from inside the building suggest he’s either meeting a father and son, or…” She trails off, Artemis and Foaly can fill in the “or” for themselves. “D’arvit” Foaly mutters, at exactly the same moment Artemis says “shit.” 

“Holly, get away from there now, pull back to the chute, let Trouble send in a retrieval team you’ve done your job.” Foaly actually sounds almost panicked, Artemis definitely feels it. An unhelpful spike of emotion in his chest making him feel slightly sick. “Foaly’s right Holly, whatever this is, its bigger than both of us, and I’ve got a horrible feeling if you get any closer you’ll be right where they want you.”

“Relax,” Holly sounds breezy, although in her heart she feels jumpy, “I’m just going to drop a bit closer, I’m shielded, I’ll see if I can confirm a visual on Sool, because if it is just a kid then its your job not ours Fowl.”  
“HOLLY” Foaly shouts, “IF IT IS SOOL THEN THEY HAVE FAIRY TECHNOLOGY PULL UP PULL UP” but its too late, Holly screams once, briefly, and then the line is silence. “They saw her.” Artemis supplies into the space.  
“They saw her.” Foaly confirms. He has picture in picture view, Artemis is spared the visuals as Foaly continues, “They saw her, and they shot her.” But somehow the images his mind supplies are worse.


	8. Chapter 8

The two pause for only a moment, before Artemis is in fully fledged scheming mode. There is no time to spare when Bond might be at risk and Holly definitely is. Depending on where she was shot and what with, she can heal it, but she will be depleted and unable to fend for herself, that much Artemis knows from painful experience. He can only hope they aren’t too late. 

“Foaly.” He speaks into the dead air. “How fast can you get me, and an associate to Murmansk?” Foaly doesn’t bother saying anything like, “out of the question” or “what associate” because Foaly is not stupid. “5 hours, assuming you and the associate are waiting at Tara by the time I’ve cleared it with Trouble and set up a team.”  
“I’m on my way,” Artemis says, standing and slinging a bag over his shoulder, calculating quickly. There’s only one person he can trust with this particular mission, and luckily, she lives quite close to him. “Artemis,” Foaly asks, “Who’s the associate?”

“Her names Eve,” Artemis replies, “Eve Moneypenny. I’ll see you at Tara in 2 hours.” He terminates the fairy connector and brings out a mobile instead, dialing as he heads towards the lift and calling out “R, I’ve got to go to Russia, look after things for me.” He doesn’t need to stop, he knows she can handle it. He hits speed dial to the most important number in his phone. 

“Butler? It’s me, something has happened, can you pack my cold weather clothes, pick up the equivalent in a womens size,” he pauses, calculating, “10, I think, maybe a 12 for the upper layers so she’s got space for more jumpers, and meet me on the roof as fast as you can? I need to get to Tara, I need to save Holly.” He hangs up as Butler grunts an affirmative. He may not be all he used to in terms of speed or deadliness, but he still knows how to drive at astonishing speeds, and he’s managed to get hold of a spinner to put on the roof, given to him by Detective Barr “for emergencies”.

Artemis steps into the lift that whisks him upwards, and tries to formulate a good reason that it must be he and Eve who go to Russia to rescue Bond without having to say the word fairy. He still hasn’t got the answers when he steps out of the lift, and faces the door opposite Eve’s office, which in turn leads to M. Oh god. He doesn’t knock, but pushes open the door, relying on sheer blind luck to get him through this. Luckily, Eve is alone, “Q? It’s barely 10 o’clock its far too early for lunch” She smiles, but Artemis’ grave face knocks the smile from hers. “Eve,” He says, staring at her gravely, “Eve I need you to do something with me, and its going to be really difficult to explain, but lives are at stake, lives of people you and I care about a great deal. Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I.” She begins, but then goes silent. “What is it Q? What’s happened?”  
“There’s no time to explain.” Artemis practically whines, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We need to be on the move, and I swear I’ll explain as we go but right now, I need you to come up with an excuse to get us both on the roof and into the chopper up there in the next,” he checks his watch, “20 minutes. Please Eve. Please.”

“Fine.” She mutters, standing up and walking around the desk. “Don’t make me regret this.” And then, she faints, going down hard, hitting the edge of the desk with a flailing arm and knocking a drift of paperwork to the floor, one shoe clattering as her leg jerks spasmodically outwards. “Shit!” Artemis shouted, leaping back and then falling to his knees to try and turn her on her side into the recovery position, “Eve what’s wrong!” The creak of a door as Mallory looked out coincided with Eve’s eyes fluttering open. “She fainted.” Artemis explained, although it seemed hardly to do justice to what happened. “’m fine.” Eve mumbled, “Jus’ need a lie down.” Mallory shook his head. 

“Go home Eve, take a couple of days off, you look like you need them.” She does look awful, Artemis thinks, his plan going to shreds before his eyes. Eve is clammy and breathing rapidly in little jerks as he helps her to sit up. “Will you walk me to a car Q?” She asks, and suddenly, Artemis understands. “Of course.” He replies, “let me just get your bag and coat. If that’s okay sir?” He asks, as though its an afterthought. Of couse M will let him take a friend and colleage to the basement. M waves them on, returning to his office, “Look after yourself Eve, you’re too important to lose.”

Eve remains shaky and leans on Artemis for support all the way to the lift, where she immediately straightens up and presses the button for the top floor. Artemis checks his watch, 5 minutes to spare. “Come on then Q. Do not make me regret this or I’ll…” she trails off mid threat as the doors open, and they’re faced with an access corridor, “I don’t know what I’ll do, but you won’t like it.” But she’s smiling, and Artemis gestures her to the ladder ahead of him like a gentleman, she laughs.

“Christ I can’t believe Mallory fell for the fainting lady trick, he was in the army he should really know better.” They emerge onto the roof, where a helicopter is just starting to spin into life, and they both have to duck to avoid the wash from the rotor blades. What the fuck? Eve mouths, the wind is too loud to be easily heard above, Artemis makes a gesturing motion towards the machine, that he hopes conveys both urgency and the sense that he’ll explain just as soon as they’re inside and in the air. Luckily, Eve takes the hint and they both duck and run, clambering into the helicopter where Artemis slams the door behind them, buckling in and strapping on his helmet as they rise into the air. Across from him, Eve does the same, and Butler turns, only briefly, in his seat, to flash a small smile hello. And then they are rising, moving faster and faster, and Eve’s voice comes through the commset into his ear. “You’ve got some explaining to do Q.”  
“I quite agree,” comes Butlers rumbling voice, “but lets leave London airspace and you can explain to both of us.”

Butler flies quickly and deftly, breaking a number of airspace codes and speed limits, and in what feels like no time at all they’re at crusiing altitude and hammering across the country for Ireland at 180mph. “Explanation time.” Says Butler, and Artemis sighs, just a little, he’d been hoping to put this off for longer, or at least until he could make Foaly or Trouble help. “Okay.” He replied, letting his accent drop back into his natural tones, “Two explanations. Butler, A colleague of mine has been taken, I was cooperating with the LEP as they had a shout in the same area and someone shot Holly down, we’re almost certain the two are linked. That’s why we’re flying to Tara.” Butler grunts in understanding, returning the full focus of his attention to flying a helicopter as fast as possible across the UK and the Irish sea, no mean feat. 

“Eve.” Artemis stops, there really is no good way to say this. “Prior to joining Q branch and becoming Q, I had quite the criminal enterprise.” Eve snorts, it’s a rare person in their department who wasn’t plucked from the borders of legality, “During that time I made some very good friends, friends who work for a police force elsewhere…” He’s still skirting around the words, “underground” and “fairy”. “As I told Butler, they contacted me about an old adversary, who appeared to have disappeared in the same place we had the intelligence on Janus, and so I was in contact with them when Bond disappeared, at around the same time, the friend in this, other police force, was wounded and presumably is also being held hostage. If it’s who I think it is, then they’re using both Bond and this other friend, to get to me, It’s why I wanted you, you’re the only person I can trust with all this.”

Eve raised an eyebrow at him, “Q, there’s something you’re not telling me in all of this, but I trust you, okay? I have two questions, One, who is this?” She jerks a thumb towards Butler, “and Two, if we’re supposed to be going to Russia then why are we flying towards Ireland?” She’s polite enough not to ask about the accent, which is a relief, for now, but he knows he won’t get off explaining that one forever. “This is Butler, Domovoi Butler, until quite recently he was my bodyguard, but unfortunately he’s been injured in service, so now he’s more of a very protective friend.” This actually makes Butler laugh a little, it sounds like rocks grating on one another. “We’re flying to Ireland to meet up with the,” another pause, god its not getting any easier to say, “associates, who have a significantly faster method of travel than anything I’ve come up with. They’re a little. Special, shall we say?”

Eve nods, satisfied for now. “One final question.” Her eyes are twinkling, “The accent?” Artemis groans a little, before giving in and removing his glasses, tucking them into an inside pocket. “All a part of the disguise I’m afraid, this is what I really sound like.” Eve just grins at him, she looks delighted, Artemis takes some small comfort in the probability that the LEP are going the wipe all of this from her memory when they’re done. At least she hasn’t asked him about the name yet, but its going to come up before long.

They circle the field that conceals Tara, before Butler brings them into a gentle landing, inside the shields. They dismount and Butler brings out two dufflebags of cold weather clothing, both containing a fake passport. They will travel as David and Olivia Lindsey, a pair of research scientists. Now for the bit Artemis has been dreading most of all. The Goodbye.

“Butler,” he says softly, drawing the giant man to one side, “You realise this is as far as you can go this time, don’t you?” He doesn’t want to say it, to say it would be to acknowledge that Butler won’t be around forever. “Don’t worry about me Artemis.” Butler is almost smiling. “I’m going to hook myself in via Foaly at Fowl Manor, I’ll be your tactical support in your ear.” It’s a nice gesture, Artemis finds himself almost having to wipe away a tear, but the moment is broken by Trouble Kelp marching through the shuttle bay doors towards him. 

“Artemis, time is of the essence.” He nods to Eve, “You must be Eve Moneypenny, Trouble Kelp,” he holds out a hand, which Eve takes and shakes very politely, before Trouble turns and gives a salute to Butler. “Butler.”  
“Trouble”  
“We’ll be on our way then, fly safe.” Trouble has never really been one for great depths of emotions, Artemis suspects that’s rather what Holly saw in him. As they go through the doors Eve hisses in his ear, “Artemis? Your name is Artemis?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The top speed of the average commercial chopper is 160-180mph, based on that speed London to Dublin is approximately an hour and a half. No you put to much thought into a throwaway moment.


End file.
